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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28394502">hey man, i miss your collarbones</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/reesenoblade/pseuds/reesenoblade'>reesenoblade</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Lime, M/M, Minecraft, mf i don’t know how to tag</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:22:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,233</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28394502</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/reesenoblade/pseuds/reesenoblade</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>in which a duel makes nick realize that his feelings aren’t just dumb puppy love, and that he deserves his own happy ending too.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>53</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>hey man, i miss your collarbones</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>y’all know the drill, quiet down.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>for nick, it's always been the stupid grins that clay gives him.</p><p> </p><p>it's what makes his blood boil, it's what keeps his tongue sharp and heart curdled. it's what makes him sigh so late at night, and makes him groan whenever he loses a bet to him. is it that? is it so worth it that he finds himself sharpening a scowl, glaring at the blond haired boy across from him? </p><p>it's not.</p><p>but it's alright. he's made worse decisions.</p><p>they're just training, that's all. it's what they've decided to call this little sparring match, but clay doesn't know that nick doesn't need it. that nick is just fine without him, that nick doesn't need training wheels from someone who's lost to gods. </p><p>but still, he just allows clay to act all happy and grin so widely at him as if he doesn't know what he's doing. a fucking idiot, that's all he is.</p><p>if he was being honest, he didn't have much of an idea why he felt such a strong emotion towards the boy. it wasn't hate, he didn't think, but it could've been the closest thing to it. whatever this feeling was, it was similar to a sickness. he felt his blood heat and evaporate into his lungs when he met eyes of a loveful boy, him and his canary head of hair that had nick thinking about who else there is. who else was there that held the same emotions as him, that saw clay and realized that they could be cured from a single grin of his?</p><p>there most definitely was, but it wasn't his place to know that.</p><p>because he was always the second hand. he was always the one to be at clay's side whenever he decided a new boy would be his conquest. when he decided that he was bored with what was happening and that he wanted to go hang out with his other pretty best friends who were oh so much better than him. it was then that nick realized that he had never been the first option, he had never been the one that clay thought about late at night when his eyes were half-lidded and half delirious from the florida heat. they had never been that way, only when clay wanted him.</p><p>it was honestly almost comical, because best friends are supposed to do everything with each other. they're supposed to be the platonic soulmates that everyone posts about on social media wanting, and they had that, didn't they?</p><p>they're like that when they're alone. when clay glances over towards nick and gives him that stupid lopsided grin of his that he always threatens to hide behind his mask with. he always messes with the bruises upon the younger's knuckles, always jokingly presses kisses to them and acts as if he's the perfect knight in shining armor. it slips away into smoke heated rooms and pained gazes from afar, and sweet laughter and short looks down to clay's peach tinted lips that has nick wondering if it would all be worth it for a single thing.</p><p>the answer is yes.</p><p>and he's almost acted on it before, but now isn't the time. it never was, and he'll just have to live with that truth.</p><p>"we can start whenever you're ready, nick." don't say his name so lovely.</p><p>they don't even have weapons, and the younger isn't sure if that was a good thing or not. while there was the possibility of him swinging a little too hard and drawing a little too much blood, hand-to-hand combat negated that fact indefinitely.</p><p>nick's almost had enough, because clay takes. he takes and takes and takes until he gets what he wants, and who's going to tell him that it doesn't work like that?</p><p> </p><p>certainly not the brown haired boy, as he picks up his stature. he stands and straightens out himself, centers his gaze around the blond only a few feet away from him in such a large arena that there should be cameras. there should be an audience who watches and talks about this for years and years to come, but their little practice match isn't that important. nick isn't important, this feeling isn't important.</p><p>nick's fist is important. he finds that out as it is thrown suddenly towards the pretty boy's face.</p><p>it misses, because he himself didn't even know it happened, but it ends with him looking at his hand in almost betrayal. </p><p>"you aren't supposed to h-" clay begins, but nick is already moving a step forward and heaving another punch directly at the other boy. it lands this time, purple and tanned skin meeting to dance together within a few moments. a loud yelp is heard, the thrown off blond having to back up a few steps to cradle his injury.</p><p>is this how it's supposed to be? is nick supposed to feel so pained whenever he connects a punch towards his best friend, his out of reach love that he's destined to always watch from afar? why does god feel the need to toy with him, to toy with him and this little training match and their friendship and their everything, why is it so dysfunctional? let him be, he begs, but his heart refuses. his heart tells him to keep going, to keep going until his knuckles are broken open and his brain loses cognitive function of what's right and wrong. blur the lines, he thinks.</p><p>this isn't them sparring.</p><p>he's realizing that as dream throws his arms up to block the next hit towards him, that his adrenaline is the only thing keeping him like this way.</p><p>nick slips up a bit, a bit of the air in his lungs becoming desolate as a rough shove is pushed against his chest. he coughs slightly, finding his footing again before looking out across his friend? opponent? either way, he looks confused. he wonders if the same smog of affection and disconnection is smothering clay's intestines, if they both are struggling to breathe whenever locked eyes become bloodied knuckles. definitely not, definitely not but nick can dream, right?</p><p>nick can dream, nick can dream. he can even evade a grab to his shoulder, but he can still feel where the taller's hand used to be. </p><p>the imprint of what could've been.</p><p>his eyes move back and forth; a slab of a stoned brick wall with moss dragging it's way down the crevices, greenery against greyed bricks that have him questioning. he snaps his gaze back to the approaching blond, tries to keep his frenzied brain in order for more than a few seconds so he can figure this all out. instead, all he can think of is his stupid gold crown of hair that makes him seem like the only deity in the world.</p><p>there's a second, and then everything is paused. he can see the breeze through the bare white shirt that he wore so nicely, he can see the blood painting a bit of his lower lip from where one of nick's hits landed. he wonders if it tastes of iron, if the salt on his tongue would mesh together with nick's own, if it stung when he dug his teeth into it. the younger catches his breath in his throat, has to exhale before he makes a motion forward. he doesn't even really understand what happened, if he's honest.</p><p>one moment, he's alone. he's staring at something he can't have and falling to his knees to ask the gods above why. why can't he have sanctity, why can't he have peace flood through his veins for the first time since he laid eyes on those milky way freckles?</p><p>the next, he's pressed against him.</p><p>and there's not but a few inches between clay and nick; the blond shoved roughly against the floral wall with no regard to how he felt. a loud groan fills the air, the music of a boy who hit his head in the midst of all this. the brunet would laugh if it was the time, if his body wasn't practically shaking with unaltered ferocity and emotion.</p><p>hands pressed against one another, dull fingernails from where clay's bitten try their best to dig into the tanned skin of his best friend. "oh- oh come on, sap," he jeered, gaze stuck onto the restrictions of himself, "- that was a cheap move."</p><p>"it's sap now? what happened to nick?" the younger huffs, and he hates that he can't recognize his own voice. it used to be nice. it used to be calm and cheery and would match the type of person he is, but now it's muddled. it's watered down and it's sharpened at the same time and he tries to remember the last time he felt himself, but it was with clay. it was when they met, and nick kept making fun of how he acted around george, but now? he can't stand to think of george, not as he loses himself and what he came for.</p><p>the poor, icarus-touched boy scrunches up his nose in confusion; he didn't even know he did it half of the times, and it was always cuter than the last. "i didn't know you preferred nick, dude."</p><p>he scoffs. he scoffs and he shoved the blond harder into the wall.</p><p>"you- you never know anything nowadays, fucks sakes. you're always too busy thinking about everything but me."</p><p>is that selfish? to want clay's mind to only be preoccupied by him, by what he could do and by what they could be? "you? we always hang out 'n talk, what's your deal?" the blond's eyebrows are furrowed, hands still moving and resisting the hold that he had brought unto himself, but it's to be expected.</p><p>they hang out. they hang out at clay's place and they smoke up sometimes, and they jokingly fight or talk about things that don't matter. they swap stories from their childhood that they always end up retelling, and look out across the blanketed night sky from the shitty view they have already. clay falls asleep on his king sized bed, and nick is right there to keep his hands to himself and his eyes locked on the pillow wall between them, because that is how it was always supposed to stay. that was their hangout, that was their talking that was their everything.</p><p>he didn't want to have to watch from beyond the fluffy wall anymore.</p><p>a pause is hung heavily in the air, in which clay's eyes are darting around while his opponent catches himself, tries to figure out everything in this stupid game they've ensnared themselves into.</p><p>it's obvious when the older is trying to get what he wants. it so very much is, especially when he tries to shuffle over to the side of the brick where he could get an opening. nick isn't stupid, at least not right now. that's why he doesn't even give him the chance. shoves his knee right next to clay's leg and keeps him trapped. now that's a sight to see, hm? and only the younger can.</p><p>breath ragged, palms worn with scratches as nick releases a sharp exhale. "why are you running, clay?"</p><p>he gulps.</p><p>nick smiles.</p><p>"i'm not- not running, i'm just.." trailing off, the blond bites the inside of his cheek with an averted contact of his eyes. avoid the situation, it's what he does best but nick won't let him. he frees one of his own hands to reach up, to press a light fingertip to the line of his jaw and connect their gazes. the brunet lingers, touch light as his hand falls down. past his neck, past his adam's apple and past his collar. he can't tell who shivers, he doesn't remember it being cold.</p><p>the faint look that had touched nick's mouth transforms, heavy and impending into an almost grin, an almost knowing expression. "what are you doing then, dream?"</p><p>"just.. looking."</p><p>"looking at what?"</p><p>"..you."</p><p>nick is selfish. he's supposed to be angry right now, is supposed to be littering clay's body and stupid face with scratches and bruises from knuckles that they both knew all too well, but instead? he's enjoying this. he's enjoying what chaos he can bring to his own misery fest, because if he can't do it now, he won't ever.</p><p>and if he had to describe how he was feeling right now, he would say he was suffocating. he would say that the intoxicating feeling of clay all around him was putting too much pressure on his lungs, that it was making him gasp and yelp at each and every move he took. he's drowning in lemon mucked hair and irrevocable mint eyes. he's taking in each breath and feeling as his insides grow cold with icy water of loud insults and quieted whispers of the night, of too much talking and not enough touching. in and out, in and out in and out; he doesn't float. nick sits at the bottom of the pool in his stomach and feels it warm, watches from outside his own body as he dies a poetic, lovely death in his mind.</p><p>it's beautiful, and it hurts.</p><p>"tell me," nick chokes out, feels the water rushing out of his lips into the form of rushed words. "tell me what you see." </p><p>clay takes his lovely time, because he's never known urgency. he opens his mouth again and again, only for silence to fill the void. his eyes wander, lower and higher for hours and hours on end. time melts away into the lake of hushed breaths. where are they again?</p><p>"only you," the blond murmurs. his resisting ceases for the time being, as he chuckles a nervous chuckle and keeps their eye contact. "i see that you didn't brush your hair before you came here, and you're wearing the hoodie i gave you last time you came over." he takes another second, flicks his eyes downward before rushing back up. "i.. i see you're getting stronger, i see that your eyes are darker than normal; and, and i see that dumb half smile you get whenever you think that you beat me. you're all around me, nick." his voice is lower, his tone is quieted, as if they're going to be heard by someone. it's just them, it's only nick and clay and maybe even the gods who put them there to test their fate.</p><p>he wants more. "that's not what i meant, you know it." he's greedy today, nick is taking and taking and taking.</p><p>another pause, another feat of nick gripping the older's wrists tighter and reminding him that there isn't anywhere to go. sure, clay would probably tell him if this was too much, or try and beat him if he really wanted to, but they both know this is where they're meant to be. right here, right now.</p><p>keep going, keep going. "your hands, they're calloused from where we've fought before this. you're looming over me, you're making sure that i know what's happening right now. you're pissed off, you're wondering how you could break me." break him? break him, shatter him to a million pieces. now, would he? or would he build him up again and again and again, only for him to fall apart in the arms of a lover they've never been. this time it's clay who keeps his attention, who owns a little quirk to his lips. "and you're wondering right now if that's possible, if i'm as weak as you think. if you could unravel me, if you could do what you wanted with me. your heart is probably beating faster than when we hunt each other, and your face is getting warm from every word i speak. you're just so easy to read, nick, especially now like.. this." </p><p>nick feels a spot of oxygen in his lungs after all this time.</p><p>he's right and he knows it, how dare he be so perfect. how dare he know how to sweep nick off of his feet, who had given him the right?</p><p>there's nothing in the atmosphere like what's there right now. the chemical imbalance that's shifting his brain to make everything so topsy turvy, where his irises felt like they were melting together into his corneas to make a painting. it's alabaster and caramel colored, reminds them both of a home that they have not been to yet. maybe soon, maybe now if they're really lucky.</p><p>"good- good boy, you're perfect," nick exhales his final desires.</p><p>and clay's face turns red. it turns red like the blood nick wishes he could draw from him. he wishes that his knuckles connected with his jaw just a little bit harder, could've sought out the scarlet liquid that he's helped him clean up so many times before. he's lived out the dreams of pressing the pads of his fingers to his nose, gently wiping away the iron tasting splash out across his cheeks, helping him in every way that he can. this time, nick just wishes that he could've gone through with making him the colors of the the night sky; reddened with blacks and blues, but he can't. he appreciates him too much for that.</p><p>his vision is swimming. the water has raised above his eyelids, he can't feel his hands through the freezing cold water of his own love. he wonders if they can wander, if they can roam and how far they can reach until he's conquered.</p><p>nick cant tell if he wants to breathe even now that he has the chance. he pleads so nicely, "let me kiss you, clay- clay can i kiss you?"</p><p>for the next few moments, it's a blur. he can feel his lips pressed against clay's own, can feel their breaths get exchanged between curious tongues and exhales behind their teeth. his head is swimming and his lips are bruised with the blacks and purples he wanted to donate to the other boy. nick drops the other's wrists in favor of fisting his own hands in the confines of a neon green hoodie and tangled blond hair, pull him up to see his shiny, saliva coated lips and emerald eyes. and he's selfish, so he kisses him again, and again and again. until he can feel himself come back to earth, until the water in his lungs clears and all he can think about is clay, clay clay.</p><p>his friend, his opponent, his newfound lover takes all he has to give. presses sighs into his collarbone and lets himself be made a fool of. he lets nick take whatever he needs, he's a generous boy.  he finds his own time to show nick the freckles dusted across his shoulders, the best places to make him gasp and squirm under his midas touch. his hums and his whines and his beckoning calls are drunken in by the boy who's waited so long for this, the boy who's been so patient and loving, the boy who's now leaving envy and greed in his wake across a body made for his molding. compliant and loving, it's what he's been needing, aching for.</p><p>maybe it's unrequited, maybe it's not, but nick can go home with the feeling of clay's mouth carved against his own, and maybe that's his new favorite thing.</p>
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